The Savage Girl - Alex Shakar [118]
“ ‘New leadership,’ ” she says. “Meaning you?”
Couch performs a little pantomime of modesty, looking down at his plate and blinking. “Well . . . I’m really honored you’d think of me in this connection, Ursula. And what’s more, by the way, I must compliment you on your sound business acumen.”
“Sure,” she says, playing it cool. “That would be pretty nice for you, wouldn’t it, James? You’d not only get to run the company, you’d get back all the money you loaned him—and it was a great deal of money, wasn’t it? Close to half a million dollars, if I remember correctly. But I guess that’s just a drop in the bucket to a rich man like you, owning a whole lake and all that. I guess you’d probably just forgive the loan outright and use the money to repay Ivy for her services?”
“I . . . er . . . well, actually, Ursula, I’m not quite so rich as all that. Or nearly so liquid.” He tugs at an imaginary collar, loosens an imaginary tie, while at his side the red-smocked woman continues to fan-dry the design on his arm. “I made that loan out of desperation. I had to take out a second mortgage on my lake, in fact, just to make it. Chas promised me quadruple my money back in a year. You see, that lake, well—oh, well, you don’t want to hear about my little financial problems.”
“Oh, no, James, please, unburden yourself. I’m here for you.”
He treats her to one of his relatively anxious, lower-teeth-only smiles. “Well, that lake—you see, when my grandfather was getting on in years, getting more than a little senile, clearly, he turned into one of those kooky nature nuts all of a sudden and put in one of those horrendous conservation-easement clauses on the lake property, stipulating that it could never be subdivided. Of course, I’ve got a team of lawyers working to overturn the thing. I’m pretty sure they can do it, but it could take another couple of years. Anyway, to make a long story short, I’m at the end of my credit, and if I don’t get that loan back and then some, I’ll have to sell off the property before the clause is stricken, which means I’ll end up getting not even a twentieth of its real value. You see what a . . . what a shame that would be, right? Of course, I’ll make sure Ivy gets properly reimbursed for her work, in due course. You have my word of honor on that. But in the meantime the important thing to keep in mind is that the website will get shut down, and you’ll get your sister back.”
Couch presents her with an earnest, puppy-dog face as the waitress in the white apron ties a starched white bib around his neck.
Ursula shrugs, hiding her excitement at the prospect. “If the FBI’s getting involved,” she says, “I’ll get Ivy back anyway, won’t I?”
“That could take months, Ursula. Who knows what kind of things she’d be believing by then?”
This may be true, but she takes care not to look impressed by the argument. Couch continues to look at her as the red-smocked woman tilts his seat back into a semireclining position. Meanwhile, the blond waitress skewers a piece of fish with a fork and, holding a spoon underneath to catch any juices, carries it to Couch’s mouth. He chews quickly and swallows.
“And also, of course,” he says, “you’d have your job back.”
“Working for you? No thanks. No, I think I’m better off just washing my hands of all of you.”
Couch coughs. The waitress wipes his mouth. “I see,” he mutters.
The woman in the red smock raises the left armrest into position and guides his arm into place. She then opens a lacquered wooden box on the silver tray and using a pair of long silver tongs extracts a writhing leech. She sets the leech against Couch’s shoulder, just above the design. It quickly affixes itself to his flesh while he regards the process, his face undisguisedly troubled now. He remains silent for a moment and then, rallying his impossible grin, turns back to face her.
“You know, Ursula, one thing that’s been bugging me about this